Raising Kane

By Heather Long

Meet Kid Kane. The youngest brother, the passionate one, the one who lives with his soul exposed—he’s never met a woman he can’t seduce.

When the spirit fever struck a town, a village or an outpost, it left few if any survivors. The white man blamed the Indian saying they used their mojo on them. The Indians blamed the white man for angering the spirits. The survivors knew it didn’t matter. The Fevered were forever changed.

A gift he needs to tame…

Kid feels what the world around him feels, he is a raw, bleeding nerve, and he can’t control the pain anymore. After lashing out at everyone he loves, he agrees to an exile atop Quanto’s mountain to learn to control the power he wields. Desperate to end it, Kid battles with Wyatt the eldest Morning Star—hoping against hope that the man will kill him. He longs only for peace…

A gift she wants to harness…

Evelyn Lang grew up with a territorial judge for a father, and a secret—her father’s Fevered ability passed to her. When he’s killed in broad daylight in a little town in Kansas after freeing a slave, Lang is no longer bound by her father’s oath to never use her ability—now she must train it. She travels across hostile territory in search of the man who trained her father. She longs only for vengeance…

Tempestuous passions, opposing needs, and impulsive decisions divide them…

Conflicting goals put Kid and Evelyn in direct opposition. Her hunger for justice cuts him, but Quanto refuses his requests to train alone. Forced to train together, they must confront their deepest fears if they are ever to achieve their greatest desire….

His pain. Her obsession. Their battle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Long
• Release date: Aug 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301953356

Heather Long

Heather Long is a USA TODAY bestselling author who likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, and Marines. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romances as hot as her native Texas summertime.

Book preview

Raising Kane

Heather Long

Contents

Raising Kane

Series So Far

A Note from Heather

The Fever

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

ACT II

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

ACT III

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Wanted: Fevered or Alive Sneak Peek

About the Author

Also by Heather Long

Raising Kane

Meet Kid Kane. The youngest brother, the passionate one, the one who lives with his soul exposed—he’s never met a woman he can’t seduce.

When the spirit fever struck a town, a village or an outpost, it left few if any survivors. The white man blamed the Indian saying they used their mojo on them. The Indians blamed the white man for angering the spirits. The survivors knew it didn’t matter. The Fevered were forever changed.

A gift he needs to tame…

Kid feels what the world around him feels, he is a raw, bleeding nerve, and he can’t control the pain anymore. After lashing out at everyone he loves, he agrees to an exile atop Quanto’s mountain to learn to control the power he wields. Desperate to end it, Kid battles with Wyatt the eldest Morning Star—hoping against hope that the man will kill him. He longs only for peace…

A gift she wants to harness…

Evelyn Lang grew up with a territorial judge for a father, and a secret—her father’s Fevered ability passed to her. When he’s killed in broad daylight in a little town in Kansas after freeing a slave, Lang is no longer bound by her father’s oath to never use her ability—now she must train it. She travels across hostile territory in search of the man who trained her father. She longs only for vengeance…

Tempestuous passions, opposing needs, and impulsive decisions divide them…

Conflicting goals put Kid and Evelyn in direct opposition. Her hunger for justice cuts him, but Quanto refuses his requests to train alone. Forced to train together, they must confront their deepest fears if they are ever to achieve their greatest desire….

His pain. Her obsession. Their battle.

Copyright © 2014 by Heather Long

Cover by Virginia Nelson

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-301-95335-6

Series So Far

Marshal of Hel Dorado

Brave are the Lonely

Micah & Mrs. Miller

A Fistful of Dreams

Raising Kane

Wanted: Fevered or Alive

Wild and Fevered

The Quick and the Fevered

A Man Called Wyatt

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A Note from Heather

In the early part of 2011, I stood outside a bookstore chatting with some friends from my book club about an idea I had for a paranormal with no technology, no cars, no GPS, no cell phones—no easy way out of the problems the characters faced. I said, at the time, I wanted to make their powers something that truly set these people apart in a world where everything else was tough—it was the moment Fevered Hearts was born. Thanks to the wonderful encouragement of people like Patti, Ruthie, Jaime, Jeanie, Kim and Rebecca—I decided to write my ‘novella’ and share this world with everyone.

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For those of you who have been on the journey with me, you might remember that this little novella turned out to be the 82,000-word Marshal of Hel Dorado. I never, in a million years suspected when I sat down to write those first scenes with Sam, Scarlett, and their respective brothers that I would be sitting here two and a half years later, preparing Raising Kane—book five in the series for release. It has been the most tremendous of trail rides for me; one that began as just something I want to do and it has become something I can’t wait to do.

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Every time I sit down to write the next book, I get a thrill—because I’m going home. Very few books can I say take me on such a wild, and satisfying ride and I wanted to say thank you to my girls who encouraged me, cheered me on and especially to Ruthie who said, every single time she spoke to me that summer—I want to read Sam. Thank you for being on this ride with me, I have had so much fun and thank you to all of you who pick up these books and read them. The book you hold in your hands is Raising Kane, the highly-anticipated novel featuring Kid Kane, the youngest Kane brother who stole my heart when I wrote Marshal of Hel Dorado and I am so delighted to be able to invite you along on his journey as we travel from the Flying K to the Mountain, hang on—it’s a wild ride.

---

Heather

For every single person who has ever struggled to find his or her place in the world—you are not alone.

The Fever

When the spirit fever struck a town, a village or an outpost, it left few if any survivors. The white man blamed the Indian saying they used their mojo on them. The Indians blamed the white man for angering the spirits. The survivors knew it didn’t matter. The Fevered were forever changed.

Chapter 1

Kid, The Trail

Kid rolled over, the hard ground punishing his back and side. The fire crackled and the lean-to they constructed against the rocks provided little protection from the biting wind. Winter hadn’t loosened its grip yet and it didn’t seem to matter that their trail took them south and west or that the sun’s heat on the cracked sandstone rose in shimmering waves. The nights were brutal.

Huddling into his jacket, Kid shifted again. Wyatt sat silently staring at the fire. It blazed higher than when the younger man first lay down to sleep. Shadows flickered over Wyatt’s face, half-hidden beneath his black hat. The Morning Star’s eldest brother said little on the journey; he was even less given to chatting than Cody.

Don’t you sleep? Maybe he should have kept the question to himself. The cold void wrapped around the man kept Kid tucking his own emotions closer. If he could just close himself off and erect a wall away from that icy vortex of death, he would. Engaging him brought the man’s attention—and his gaze was even more unsettling than his presence.

The sun will be up in an hour. Sleep while you can. We’ll ride at first light. Short and to the point. How did he get along with his family? Scarlett bubbled over with warmth. Cody, Jimmy, Buck and Noah acted like brothers—they gave each other a hard time, fought, and even yelled. Wyatt just was…something else.

The animals shifted, their hooves shuffling on the hard packed dirt. Wyatt’s giant of a stallion snorted once, and then settled again. The crackling of the flames licking at the wood punctuated the quiet of the night. Not that it was all that silent. Night predators stirred in the desert—hunting or scrabbling for food. Smaller creatures fussed about, no doubt looking for their own sustenance and avoiding becoming the meal.

The horses shuffled. They snorted occasionally. The fire burned. Wyatt—he was silent. Kid slanted a look at the man. He sat unmoving, a sentinel against the night.

Don’t.

The single word crackled with command and he jumped. His heart slammed against his ribs and he sucked in a breath of air. I wasn’t planning to.

Liar. Was that a curl of amusement?

No, not this time. He’d lied plenty, but he had no intentions of trying to touch Wyatt’s emotions. The man was cold, clammy blackness—it sucked at Kid threateningly.

You didn’t ask about your brother. Wyatt poked a stick at the fire and the flames jumped higher.

No. Kid agreed, closing his eyes. I didn’t. And had no plans to. He didn’t have to guess which brother he meant. Wyatt had issued the same warning to Jason and the idiot didn’t listen. The last time Kid saw him, he had collapsed in a heap. Maybe he should feel something other than nothing for him, but anger and resentment for Jason seemed to blacken and diminish any fraternal affection.

Do you really want to die?

Kid opened his eyes and sat up.

You asked me if I would. The man stared at him from beneath the brim of his hat. Despite the shadow, Kid could almost feel it roving over him—waiting.

I know what I asked. Irritation scraped through him, like sand in an open cut.

We’re alone. No one will know. Accidents happen all the time. He toyed with a knife, and the firelight flickered off it.

Was he offering to kill Kid and just get it over with? Had that been his intention all along? His siblings referred to Wyatt with fear and awe. They said he didn’t ride unless someone was going to die. He came to the Flying K to kill Delilah. The girl had done nothing to anyone, but the eldest Morning Star came to kill her nonetheless. She survived—whether because of Buck’s intervention or her refusal to use her Fevered ability to attack Wyatt, Kid had no idea.

No one on the ranch had been able to stop him. All those awesome abilities—Scarlett’s firestarting, Cody’s wolf strength, Jimmy’s aim, even Jason and his vaunted mental acuity and skill—Wyatt deflected all of them without seemingly trying. He put them all down. Kid didn’t quite understand what Buck did, but somehow he tackled Wyatt and the two vanished into thin air.

One moment there, and gone the next.

And not just a little gone, they were completely gone—Buck’s emotional imprint vanished as if it hadn’t been. They returned a few minutes later as though nothing had happened. Eerie and unsettling as Wyatt was—the event wouldn’t be erased from Kid’s mind anytime soon.

So, your bravado is gone. Good. The knife vanished from the older man’s hands and he rose. And since you’re awake, eat. We ride at sunrise.

He stalked away from the fire and left Kid to stare after him. The Morning Star siblings loved their brother, but they also feared him. Kid didn’t have to question why.

The man terrified Kid and that alone brought him comfort.

Wyatt would kill him if he couldn’t get his curse under control. For the first time in years, the knot of tension in his gut loosened. Rising from his bedroll, he packed his things together and settled on hard tack and cold water for his breakfast next to the fire.

To the east, the sun’s light trailed a ribbon of orange across the horizon. His gaze lingered, an inexorable pull demanding he return. He turned his back on it. The Flying K lay to the east and he rode away from it.

Away from his home.

Away from his family.

Away.

---

Three days of relentlessly riding west and Kid’s head ached. He’d seen two towns in the distance…but always the distance. Wyatt never let their path bring them in range. Kid’s skin itched, as though it were too tightly attached to his body. Even his neck and shoulders hurt, along with his backside. He didn’t remember the ride being this long when he, Sam, and Micah came in search of Scarlett nearly two years before. Had it really been that long?

He fought the urge to complain, but when he saw a third set of adobe shimmering in the distance, he angled his horse away from Wyatt’s and squared his shoulders. Every town had some woman or women that could be had for the right price. He wasn’t proud of the need burning through him, but if he didn’t do something soon, he would snap.

Wyatt cut him off, his implacable expression set as he blocked the path. We’re not going to town.

You don’t have to. I just need a few hours and—

No. West. He pointed. That’s the way we travel. No towns. No other people. No hiding.

Frustration screamed through Kid and he gripped the reins so tightly, the leather cut into his palms through the gloves. I’m going to Quanto’s. I haven’t changed my mind, but I’m not a prisoner and I need a break.

I said no. Wyatt lifted his chin and the sunlight slanted across his hard face and cold eyes—one blue and the other green. They reflected the sunlight, appearing almost unearthly. Ride on and let it go.

I. Can’t. The urge to lash out swarmed through him, a rattled beehive of emotions stinging his temper. Get out of my way before I do something we both regret.

A slow smile curved Wyatt’s mouth. Go ahead.

Was the man serious? Maybe he didn’t understand the severity of it. Maybe he lived away from people so long he didn’t comprehend the raw, visceral need for companionship? What woman would have the strength to bed him? Much less the desire?

Shaking his head, Kid fought the anger and the hurt balling together like heat lightning and sparking through his system. Tapping his ankles to the horse’s sides, he turned the mare to the left and surged around Wyatt. He made three strides before the reins wrenched from his hands, he flew backwards out of the saddle and slammed into the hard, cracked earth.

All the air whooshed out of him and Kid groaned. Physical pain thrummed past the buzzing in his body. He heard the sound of Wyatt’s boots hitting the ground and couldn’t dredge up the energy to care. The steady thump of his approach should have filled him with dread, but even the man’s shadow draping him had little effect. Rough demand raked his insides, a taut string pulled too tight and threatening to snap. He needed to get to a town.

When Wyatt stared down at him, Kid lashed out with his leg. For a few, short seconds—surprise flickered across Wyatt’s face. But his knee gave to the force of Kid’s blow and he hit the ground. Years of wrestling with his own brothers honed Kid’s ability in close quarters fighting, so he didn’t even wait for Wyatt to finish falling before he threw a punch. His knuckles slammed into Wyatt’s jaw and the world crackled and turned black.

Kid froze.

A thousand emotions churned through him riding shocks of lightning, twisting and forking, sizzling through his nerves and shattering him. Pain—the easiest to discern, fury, the strongest, and an inescapable loneliness underscoring the rest. Kid writhed, and hot scalding tears poured down his cheeks. Shaking, he crawled away and threw up until he had nothing left in his stomach.

Sickness rode through him in waves, every time he thought he had it under control, it took him again. When he thought he might collapse, a hand seized the back of his coat and hauled him to his feet. Pressure thudded behind his skull, a bruise that seemed to beat with the same force as his heart. He met Wyatt’s eyes, hardly prepared for a fresh shock.

Pity softened the hard edge of the man’s expression. You’re stronger than your brother. That will help you. But no man survives stupidity, Kid.

What are you? Because whatever he was, Wyatt was like no other Kid ever encountered. Harrison’s darkness was corruption twisted with malice, but Wyatt—he wasn’t evil. It wasn’t hate that fueled him, or passion. It was—gorge threatened him again and only the water splashed in his face stopped him from trying to dry heave up what his stomach no longer had.

Sitting abruptly, his legs too shaken to hold him, Kid struggled with the tight bands wrapping around his chest. "What are you?" He repeated the question.

It doesn’t matter. Wyatt squatted in front of him. But you’re done now, right? No more trying to run off?

I wasn’t trying to run away, and he hadn’t been. He just needed to bury himself in a woman for a while, feed her ecstasy, and take the edge off. I know I need to get to the mountain. I need something to make this all stop. I’m not going to make it if I don’t do something about this. Ichor crawled through him—like a dozen sticky spiders draping his soul in their webbing. His chest squeezed tighter and tighter. He couldn’t breathe.

You were running. Burying yourself in other people is not healing or useful. It’s running.

You’re not in my head. You have no idea how I feel or what’s going on with me. Why the hell wouldn’t his hands stop shaking?

You’re going to Quanto. We’re not stopping anywhere. You have no control. You feed off everything around you. If you need to blunt out the emotional noise you can take my hand, but somehow I think you won’t. Wyatt stripped off his gloves and held out a large calloused hand in his direction.

Kid’s stomach bottomed out. No. He didn’t want to feel what was in the man. Not again.

Now get on your horse and let’s ride. He didn’t add or I will make you, but it was definitely implied.

Clenching fists, Kid rose and staggered toward his horse. He stared at the adobe roofs reflecting in the distance. He wouldn’t buy into the delusion that he could make it. Wyatt hadn’t been anywhere near him when Kid was dragged from his horse—he didn’t need to be. He could control him from a distance. If he lashed out again, he would bear the brunt of whatever it was that lived inside of the man.

Also not an option Kid was eager to embrace. I don’t know if I can make it days without—without finding a woman. The confession cost him. He’d given up so much, what would a few hours hurt?

You can. You just have to learn how. We say I can’t when we don’t know another way. Get on your horse.

Left with no choice, Kid stumbled to where his mare waited, patient and maybe a little curious. Barely able to put a foot into the stirrup, he dreaded having to ask for help. It took him a minute, but he managed to drag himself into the saddle. Exhaustion chewed on him, but he turned his back on the town and nudged the horse over to where Wyatt waited.

The man nodded once and climbed into his saddle, smooth and easy. They said nothing, riding until the sun dipped so low in the west, they couldn’t see anything. Nothing moved in the hard rocky plain around them. It would be another night with a fire, cold wind, and hard tack for food. Kid rode most of the day in a fugue, the world greying around him as the fever in his blood burned.

He didn’t even notice Wyatt stopped until the man caught his mare’s reins. Dismount. Eat. I’ll tend the camp.

All but falling out of the saddle, Kid limped over to a rock and sat down. It went against the grain to let someone else do all the work, but he didn’t think he could manage to chew much less strip his horse’s tack and tend the animals. The sound of water trickling broke through his misery and Kid glanced around. It was a moonless night, so the only illumination came from the scattering of stars overhead—which meant next to no light.

It’s over there. Wyatt nodded. A natural crack in the land lets some of the underground river bubble up. I’ve already got water to make coffee. Go bathe. It will help.

Blind obedience had never been his thing, but Kid could barely string together the reasons why he should object. He stumbled through the darkness, found the water splashing through the rocks. Surprisingly, green growth and flowers filled the little grotto, hidden away by the thicker yellow slabs of sandstone and hard packed earth. Where the water stroked the stone, he smelled a hint of moss, but it wasn’t like the deeper creeks or watery grottos on the ranch.

Stripping out of his clothes, Kid plunged into the water. He didn’t care how deep it was, but it barely lapped at his thighs. Ice cold, it shocked his system and cleansed the cobwebs. He didn’t have any soap, so he made do with rinsing off the sweat and dust. Shoving his face into the water and soaking his hair down, he scratched at the beard growth on his face.

He needed a shave.

Wood smoke tickled his nose and he glanced over to see Wyatt illuminated against the flickering light of the fire—a darker shadow amongst many. But there was something to the smell of the smoke…meat. Squinting, Kid spotted what looked like rabbit roasting over the flames.

His stomach let out a loud growl and he rinsed off the rest of the dirt and climbed out into the rapidly cooling night air. Shivers raced over his skin, but he embraced them. The lack of heat seemed to slap more sense into him. Despite the trembling in his hands, the haunting darkness from earlier and the rampant need which rode him hard throughout the day both abated. Using his shirt to dry off, he pulled on his britches and boots and carried the rest back.

Finding a clean shirt in his packs, he pulled it on and then added his jacket, but he didn’t want to be too warm. In a day or two, he’d trade out the britches and cotton for his buckskin, but that would be the end of fresh clothes. Finger combing his hair, he walked to the fire and studied the meat.

When did you catch this? His throat hurt with the effort and his voice sounded weak and rough.

A little while ago. Wyatt didn’t pause in brushing down his horse. I take it you’re back now?

Yeah. Kid nodded even if the man couldn’t see him. I’m sorry about earlier. The apology cost him nothing.

Accepted. It’ll be ready to eat soon. There’s a pot with chicory there on the right, and it should be ready. There’s also some sugar in the pack. Not a lot, but enough to help you right now.

Sugar? Why would that help? Kid liked confections as much as the next man, not that Pa allowed them more than the occasional sweet treat that didn’t come from Miss Annabeth’s baking. Once mentioned, however, he couldn’t stop scenting the brewing chicory coffee. Two metal cups waited and Kid used his discarded shirt to grip the pot and pour some of the coffee for each of them. He found the sugar where Wyatt indicated and added a little to the heavy black brew.

Did you want some? He’d almost put the sugar back before it occurred to him to ask.

No. Save what we have for when you need it next. Wyatt finished with the animals and gave his horse a pat before walking to the fire. As with every other night on this endless trail, no bedding lay out for him—and only Kid’s bedroll waited to be set next to the fire.

Sipping the coffee, Kid blinked. The sweetness tasted good. It tasted better than good. The hot liquid burned his tongue, but he didn’t care. He drank several sips in quick succession. The heat hit his belly like a counterpoint to the cold in the water.

Lack of understanding plagued him and he studied Wyatt through the smoke rising from the fire.

Extremes feed the senses. Working a gift, particularly one that doesn’t want to be tamed drains the body and the soul. Shocking it can be restorative. Wyatt leaned forward and turned the rabbit on the makeshift spit. The meat sizzled as the flames heated it.

I guess you see this a lot.

I’ve seen my share. The man didn’t waste unneeded words.

Dragging his bedroll closer to the fire, Kid took a spot opposite the elder Morning Star. I have a lot of questions.

I know. Quanto will answer them. He took another long drink of his coffee, finishing it. If the scalding heat bothered him, he didn’t let on. He refilled his cup and set the tin pot back next to the fire.

Can’t you?

His answers will be kinder. For the barest second, humor flashed around the man’s dour expression.

Maybe I don’t want kind. If they were going to be stuck together, it would be good to know what to expect.

When you hit me earlier—that wasn’t kind. Wyatt lifted his head and Kid felt the full weight of his regard. Are you sure you don’t want kind?

Unease slithered through him.

Okay. I’ll shut up and wait.

Wyatt smiled and the tension in Kid’s belly fisted. Wise choice.

He considered all the responses he could make and settled for a nod. Maybe Wyatt being quiet wasn’t a bad thing. He stared at the rabbit sizzling on the spit and sipped his sweetened coffee. Yeah—quiet Wyatt was definitely better.

Chapter 2

Kid, The Desert

The pattern repeated for two more days, Wyatt set the pace and Kid plodded after him. Kid could barely see the trail in front of his horse’s hooves any longer. Getting in the saddle each day took every ounce of his energy. Since his mare seemed content to follow Wyatt’s stallion, Kid let her. The pounding headache in his temples drove spikes through his vision. He kept the brim of his hat low to block out the unforgiving sun, but it didn’t help.

His stomach rebelled and he reined in, slid off the mare, and made it five sweat drenched steps before he threw up. The sour taste of bile burned up his throat. His stomach cramped as he tried to vomit up the contents. Another spasm had him doubling over again and he would have fallen if not for the icy, chilling presence seizing the back of his jacket and dragging him upright.

Vision reduced to two pinpricks of light, Kid could barely see Wyatt and, thank God, he couldn’t feel him. The world swam sickeningly and then tilted. Some part of his brain registered he was over Wyatt’s shoulder, but he didn’t care. Hours, or maybe it was only a minute or two, later he realized he was in the saddle, his hands bound to the pommel and his feet bouncing against the stirrups.

Hands coaxed him off the saddle and caught him when he fell and then it was cold and dark and he slept.

He roused to someone shaking him and he tried to push them off, but the hands were insistent and dragged him up from the bliss of darkness. A cup pressed to his lips and he drank salty soup. It tasted awful, but it was wet and his parched throat screamed in relief. Heat flushed him, burning his insides until he wanted to weep.

When he started to choke, the cup was removed and the irritating hands went away and he collapsed again. Maybe he was finally dying. The thought lasted only a few seconds before it flickered out, too.

Several times he woke and each time choked down more of the soup. He barely registered the flavor. He drank when it was forced on him and fell back into sleep when the hands left him alone. Time seemed fluid and he was sticky with sweat when he finally surfaced from the blanket of misery. Blinking slowly, it took him a moment to identify his surroundings as some kind of cave.

A fire crackled. Horses stomped. Wyatt sat less than a foot away, a silent sentinel in the shadowy darkness.

Water, the word came out as a croak. His throat hurt like hell and his skin seemed too tight, as though it had been stretched beyond imagining. Needles slivered at his flesh and he thought about sitting up, but he tried and failed, weaker than a newborn foal.

Wyatt cupped the back of his head and helped him upright. The metallic of a tin mug to his lips, but the water was blissfully cold. He gulped several swallows and scowled when the other man took the cup away.

Sips. You’re dehydrated and if you drink too much, too fast, you’re going to vomit. Again. The emphasis on the last word tugged a memory loose—Wyatt supporting him through more than one bout of illness.

What happened? God, his voice felt thick and dusty with ill use. The dull thud in his head echoed a steady cadence in time with the pound of his heart.

Your gift turned on you. The utter directness of the response acted like a spray of cold water.

Kid fought to see past the fog obscuring his vision, the hazy edges wavering. What? The croak hurt. More water.

A little more, but sips only. Wyatt’s caution came out more an order than a request. He helped Kid to sit up more, bracing his back with a saddle. Weak as a kitten, Kid cooperated. His muscles didn’t seem to want to do anything right and his hands trembled. Water sloshed around the rim of the cup and it took both hands to fight to keep it steady.

Wyatt crouched there, his one blue eye and one green reflecting the firelight licking the darkness and seeming to glow from within. Kid managed a sip, then another pausing only after the third swallow seemed to ease the harsh rawness of his throat.

Done? The other man asked and took the tin cup.

Yeah. Thanks. Mind mired in exhaustion, it took Kid a moment to remember what he’d been asking. What…do you mean my gift turned on me?

The other man studied him a moment and then rose. He moved around the fire and when he returned, he passed over some hard tack and dried beef. Eat slowly. You’ve had no solid food for four days.

Was that how long he’d been out? The last time illness tore him apart, he’d been poisoned by Mariska. Even then, he’d not been down for four days. Weaker than a kitten, he took his time about nibbling on the end of the dried beef. The spices on the meat actually burned his lips, but he worked a piece loose and chewed it slowly.

When he managed to finish a whole bite, swallow it, and start on the next, Wyatt nodded and passed him the cup for another drink. Our abilities are like beasts in a way. Cody can no more stay human than Scarlett can not burn something. When you lash it down through force of will, a gift will fight back.

The explanation didn’t make sense. Cody doesn’t fight his wolf anymore. The schism between man and beast had been healed. And Scarlett’s fine… His sister-in-law’s tempestuous nature came out in a wide variety of ways, from her passionate love for Kid’s brother Sam to her fierce protectiveness of her children. Both Cody and Scarlett were settled—while not necessarily restive, their emotional spikes didn’t send Kid to his knees.

Not anymore.

They were hardly as restfull as Micah—Kid’s older brother was so damn steady, he calmed Kid just by being there—but they didn’t tear Kid apart either.

They have better control, they’re more grounded, and they have reasons beyond themselves to stay that way. Wyatt’s gaze was on the fire, but Kid doubted the eldest Morning Star missed anything. Control over a gift is hard-won, particularly over one that does not want to be leashed. Primal gifts are the most difficult.

Primal gifts. Scarlett was a firestarter and could leash even a range fire and extinguish it—or burn a building to ashes to erase it, if necessary. Cody was a wolf and the wolf was Cody, though for too long the schism inside him denoted two separate, yet utterly distinct personalities. That chasm between his two halves healed during a terrific battle in the snowy mountains, and Kid had helped it along—pouring everything he had into Cody and pulling all of his pain into himself.

It had nearly killed him.

His mind still sluggish, he forced another bite of the hard tack, this time, and tried to puzzle out Wyatt’s meaning. Buck’s a dreamwalker…he’s not combative.

No. His gift is addictive, but not wild and unpredictable. Wyatt added another log to the fire; the heat chased the cold chills racing across Kid’s skin.

Jo, she talks to animals. Jo, Micah’s new wife, was rock steady like her husband. Despite falling ill to spirit fever, she’d recovered and developed a gift for talking to animals. Strange, perhaps, but then what wasn’t odd about most Fevered? Noah, his gift isn’t dangerous.

Isn’t it? Wyatt spared a pointed look at the hard tack. He can no sooner walk away from an injured body than you can an injured soul. He will heal and heal and heal until he collapses. If he doesn’t temper his gift with real medicine, with allowing bodies to heal normal injuries of their own volition, his gift could quite easily kill him.

The warning rang inside him and he chewed on that with the hard tack for several minutes. He managed to take the tin cup without sloshing it this time and drank a deeply of the water. Every bite, every sip, seemed to help a little bit more.

I don’t get Jimmy’s gift, so I can’t argue that, but I do understand Delilah’s— He hesitated. The siren’s powerful voice gave him the first true peace he’d experienced. She’d stopped him from killing his own brother, from ripping his family’s heart out and that was a debt he could never repay. Would you really have killed her?

Yes. The ruthless response startled him.

She did nothing wrong. Kid frowned. She was used by a lot of people and, from the moment I sent her back to the ranch, she didn’t hurt anyone. She hurt herself in her efforts to keep her gift leashed.

Yet, she possesses the most dangerous of gifts, the ability to persuade anyone to do anything she wills. In the wrong hands, it can shatter lives. Wyatt rose, taking the now empty tin cup and a water skin. He disappeared out of the cave entrance. Kid ate another bite and it wasn’t long before Wyatt returned. He held out the cup and Kid took it with a nod.

But she didn’t hurt anyone. And you were just going to kill her.

Some gifts are too dangerous and too unpredictable to be allowed the opportunity to fail. He went to work on his saddle, repairing a portion of torn tack. The lack of real light inside the cave didn’t seem to bother him.

And that’s your call? Exhausted and worn out, Kid had no idea why he pressed the issue, but Wyatt’s arrival at the ranch caused a hell of a battle. No one had been able to take him down, not even their strongest. Wyatt breezed through them and, even though he’d taken care not to hurt his siblings, there was no escaping the bald fact that he could have, easily.

When an animal sickens, you have two options. You can treat it and hope it gets better while not infecting the others or you can cull it and let it die so it doesn’t harm the herd. Which is the better choice?

You do what you have to do. You need to know why it’s sick and Micah wouldn’t put an animal down unless it was suffering and he couldn’t fix it. His brother had so much heart where the animals under his care were concerned.

What if you know that its illness is pervasive, that you could easily lose most of your herd because you’ve seen the sickness before? Dread lingered in those words and something far more unexpected—sadness.

It took every dreg of what few resources Kid had left to not lean in to the promise of the sadness, to not pull it away. He didn’t know what other darker, twisted things would come tangled with it. He did not want to touch Wyatt’s emotions. Repeating that mantra over and over in his brain seemed to quiet the unerring need, but not stifle it.

He didn’t want to agree with him and it irritated Kid that he saw where Wyatt was going. Then you put it down. He pushed on, not giving the man a chance to respond. But, Delilah isn’t an animal. She’s a person and she has feelings… And she’d been so damn scared in that saloon at Fort Courage, terror leaked from every pore. She was better at the Flying K, happier and more confident. She was better still with Buck, the dreamwalker having earned her trust and her love.

A twinge of envy twisted in his gut. Not for what they had, but because he never would. He couldn’t do more than sate his pain in a woman. Binding himself to another person—experiencing their needs, their upsets, their wants, and their hates for all time—would shred him.

Feelings can be flawed. People can make mistakes. When those mistakes kill others, you have to balance what is needed against what is desired. Wyatt shrugged. You should sleep.

Despite the fatigue wearing him down, Kid ignored the suggestion. "You